


Misfire

by Zoadgo



Series: Merry Ficmas! [5]
Category: The 100 (TV), Z Nation (TV)
Genre: Dying in the other's arms, Friendly Fire, M/M, You Are My Sunshine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5497463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killing Zs is supposed to be easy until one gets the drop on you, that's how survivors are supposed to be these days. Especially 10k’s group, they're all supposed to die fighting, by a zombie's teeth or a foe's weapon… No, they're not supposed to go out like this, not via oh so unfriendly fire, due to a quirk of fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misfire

It was a misfire. An accident. The pile of rubble 10k had been sighting his rifle on top of shifting in the exact moment he pulled the trigger. It wasn't his fault. 

But it doesn't really matter, in the moments following the explosion of gunpowder launching a metal slug from his gun, what’s responsible for its new trajectory. All that matters is where it's going now, where the deadly bullet intended for a zombie's head will end up lodging itself. And 10k has a sickening feeling that he knows what's going to happen in that slow motion moment before the true disaster sets in, when only he's aware of how bad things just got. 

He drops his rifle as a shout rings out, a familiar voice crying out in pain. There are zombies between him and his accidental target, and 10k dispatches them with ruthless efficiency. It's what he's good at, it's what he's been doing for far too long now. Killing Zs is supposed to be easy until one gets the drop on you, that's how survivors are supposed to be these days. Especially his group, they're all supposed to die fighting, by a zombie's teeth or a foe's weapon. 

10k makes his way, in a few moments that feel like an eternity, to the victim of his carelessness. He looks down on John Murphy, clutching red hands to his chest, the colour of his fleeing life growing more stark against his paling skin by the second, and 10k drops to his knees. No, they're not supposed to go out like this, not via oh so unfriendly fire, due to a quirk of fate. John dying in front of him as the rest of his group finishes the small hoard of Zs goes against everything 10k had thought they'd earned. 

“Fuck, John, no, I didn’t mean-” The words shrivel in 10k’s mouth, no strings of syllables in the English language adequate to express anything in this moment.

10k reaches towards John hesitantly, pausing with his hands hovering above John’s own. He doesn’t know what to do, he’s been raised in a world of killing. He doesn’t know how to save someone, and Doc is off somewhere fighting a battle of his own. 10k pulls off his jacket and tucks it under John’s head, remembering seeing Doc do that sometimes in the past. John groans at the slight movement, and then 10k is out of ideas other than to apply pressure. 

10k goes to sneak his hands under John’s, to quite literally accept the blood on his hands in a desperate attempt to gain a few more seconds, enough time that someone who knows what to do can come over and fix this. As soon as his fingers brush John’s, however, his vague plan is trashed as John clutches at 10k’s hand. His skin is tacky with blood and icy cold, but his grip is strong for the moment. 10k wraps his other hand around John’s, trying desperately to warm him up. If he can do that, this will all be okay, right?

“Tommy, it’s not your fault, okay?” John’s voice is quiet, but insistent and strong, despite being slightly stressed and shaking in pain.

10k shakes his head. Even with the use of his pre-Z name, normally enough to make him trust whatever John’s saying in a heartbeat, and even though he’d thought the same thing in the moment of gunfire, 10k doesn’t want to believe it. How can it not be his fault? Another person he cares about, another loved one needing mercy because of him.

“I’m cursed.” 10k’s voice is a bare whisper, his throat tight, unshed tears hiding the carnage of battle from his sight. He wouldn’t know if a Z tried to kill him right now, and he doesn’t care.

“Shut up,” John groans in pain and presses his free hand firmer into his chest, “You say that it’s not your fault, okay?”

“I can’t-”

“Tommy, please.” The words shake 10k to his core. He’s heard them too many times, too many accidents hanging in his memories, soaked in blood and poisoning his mind.

“I-” 10k wants to protest, wants to tell John that it is his fault, but he looks at John’s face and he can’t. He can’t argue with him, not now. They’d fought enough, time and time again since John had first joined their group, even after the first time they shared watch and the first time they shared a bed. Arguing was part of being together with John, but it’s not right, now.

“It’s not my fault.” The words taste of acid on his tongue, and surely it’s wrong to lie to a dying person, but John nods his head solemnly and 10k wishes he could believe the words, for John’s sake. Because if he believed them, then he wouldn’t have murdered John. But he knew he was cursed, knew that loving John could only end in death. He’d just selfishly hoped it would be his own, this time.

The hand in 10k’s grasp tenses in a spasm of pain, and the first tears of many slip from 10k’s eyes. What is he supposed to do? He should mercy John, should do it now before he comes back, but he can’t help but hold out hope that maybe, somehow, he’ll be able to save him. So instead of reaching for his knife, 10k simply watches John suffer, unable to do anything to help.

“I’m sorry,” 10k whispers, and John shakes his head.

“Toldja never t’say that to me.” John’s words are beginning to slur, and it’s so wrong. Even when they’d found stashes of booze and gotten drunk together, John had always been annoyingly articulate.

10k nods his head shakily, remembering the first time John had told him not to say “sorry”. It had been when 10k had been changing some of John’s bandages, at the time not knowing why this strange boy had so many scars, and even more open wounds, or why he insisted on being called Murphy even though he’d introduced himself as “John Murphy”. 10k had accidentally pulled on the edges of one of the more gnarly wounds when cleaning it, and had apologized.

_“Don’t say sorry, there’s no point in sorry.”_

He’d apologized again the first time that he fell asleep against John, nodding off in the early hours of the morning, feeling more safe than he had in a long time for some reason. Maybe it was their conversations, the fact that John hadn’t been shocked by anything he’d said and had genuinely seemed to understand 10k’s loss. Maybe it was that he knew what John could do with a knife. Whatever it was, 10k had woken up with his head on the other man’s shoulder and apologized for it immediately.

_“Nothing to apologize for.”_

The first time 10k had kissed John, nervous but not willing to waste what little time they were bound to have together, he’d barely pecked John on the lips, not giving him nearly enough time to respond. And then he’d gone to apologize, and John had cut him off with his lips, silencing him with actions.

_“Don’t you dare say sorry for being with me.”_

10k looks down on John now, tears falling freely, and he almost wishes he had hit him somewhere more vital. Hit him in the heart, and he wouldn’t have that look of pain on his face. 10k releases one of his hands from John’s and reaches up, brushing his knuckles against John’s face, leaving pale streaks of red on stark white. John smiles at him, and 10k knows he has to be here, has to witness John’s final moments, has to be the one to mercy him when the time comes. He can’t be sorry for this, can’t apologize for the fact that he gets to spend the last seconds of John’s life with him.

10k remembers having nightmares, before the world was one big fever dream, and he remembers his mother singing to him. He remembers humming the same song to John when the man who was such a confident asshole in the day would drift off and whimper at old tortures in his sleep. 10k doesn’t know if his voice will hold, but he swallows hard and tries, tries to give some small amount of comfort to one of the only good things the apocalypse had given him.

 _You are my sunshine, my only sunshine._ The lyrics are a strained whisper, but John smiles at them and rest his chin against the hand 10k has cupping his face, his eyes drifting closed.

 _You make me happy when skies are grey._ The pain eases from John’s face, and the hand that had been clutching at the bullet wound in his chest relaxes.

 _You never know, dear, how much I-_ 10k has to pause to avoid sobbing the words, _\- how much I love you._

The hand in 10k’s grip goes limp, and 10k lays it down on a dark red chest, carefully, as if the porcelain colour of John’s skin is an indicator of fragility. Perhaps it is, perhaps that’s why he’s gone so soon, leaving sharp shards of pain lodged in 10k’s chest.

_“Please don’t take my sunshine away.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the second day of Ficmas! I’m uploading 12 brand new one shots for y'all to enjoy (3/day, one for each of my major fandoms each day from the 20th to the 24th)
> 
> I am so sorry, but MCD works so well for these two. Whoops.
> 
> [Etra](http://coldsaturn.tumblr.com) is the best editor on the planet and I love her so much for editing all these for me!
> 
> Come spend the holidays with me [on tumblr!](http://jonnmurphy.tumblr.com) And thank in advance for reading/commenting/leaving kudos <3


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